


The Chronicles of Vox Machina

by FantasyBard



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-08
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-11 21:56:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5643313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantasyBard/pseuds/FantasyBard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Being a collection of moments and interactions related to party of adventurers known as Vox Machina, where they came from,  and the moments which defined them as a family. </p><p>They are a strange family to be sure, with few of them being of the same blood or even of the same race. However, in the bonds of loyalty, love, and friendship which they have foraged across their adventures, they are a family in all the ways which really matter. </p><p>Second chapter: Vex and Vax finally exit the life of their father, and set out on the open road, with only each other to rely on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smoke (Percy)

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, fellow Critters. Thanks for taking the time to read my ramblings on this wonderful show called Critical role. I wanted to make a few things clear before we start off. The Chronicles of Vox Machina is intended to be a collection of one-shots and mini-arcs centering around the characters of Vox Machina. Some of them are delving a little bit into backstory, others are just moments that came to mind while watching the cast interact during the show. They are no necessarily in chronological order, but I will be having little introductions at the beginning of each chapter that will hopefully give you an idea of what is happening. 
> 
> I have really been amazed by the level of talent which I have seen spring from this show. I hope that my own contribution can live up to even a little of what I have seen and read. And with all that out of the way, I hope that you enjoy the Chronicles of Vox Machina.

Smoke (Percy):

_Smoke. It obscures and shadows the clearest of intentions and memories. For Percy, when the smoke comes to him in a dream one night, offering him the hope of vengeance, the choice he makes will alter the course of his life forever._

Percy never had any clear memory of waking up on the fishing boat. Running blindly from the Briarwoods was his last clear memory, right after he had left his sister to die in the snow. The fishermen had pulled him from the freezing cold water, barely conscious and wounded. The fishermen did try pressing him for information as to where he had come from, but Percy had remained tight-lipped. Eventually, the men on the ship had simply left him to his own devices. The boy had proven to be a hard worker, even if he was obviously not born to a life on the open water. In the dead of winter, it was sometimes harder to fin workers, and the captain was not necessarily willing to turn one able-bodied man away simply he wanted to keep his own secrets.

As for Percy himself, he would barely remember anything of the next few months or even years. There were only flashes of memory which seemed more like dreams than actual experiences. The one driving thought in his mind was that he needed to get as far south as he possibly could. South represented safety. The farther south he went, he hoped that it would mean that the chances of the Briarwoods discovering his survival would become smaller.

He didn't really know how he managed to make the journey. After leaving the waterways and the fishermen behind, he drifted from village to village, town to town, picking up whatever job he could find. Though he had been the son of a nobleman, Percy had been taught the value of hard work all his life. His aptitude for science, naturalism and engineering would serve him well, as he worked jobs in the blacksmith's shops for stray pieces of coin and warm meal. To simply survive had become his only goal. He had no purpose, no destination, no family.

Whether or not he was fully aware of it, his appearance began to slowly change over time. The horror of see his family slaughtered and his home destroyed, along with the subsequent torture he had received at the sadistic hands of Dr. Ripley aged him. His bond hair began to grow white. His blue eyes had once been alight with curiosity and a thirst for knowledge. Now, they were dull, almost lifeless. There were frequently dark circles under his eyes. He rarely slept, never deeply and never enough to ever bring him true rest.

By day, he was haunted him by memories he could never truly escape from. At night, those memories became nightmares. Nightmares of blood, fire, and death, the cowardice and blindness that had made him unable to defend his family.

Above all of this was the burning question of why. Why had he been the one who was spared? Why was he even trying to run anymore, when there was no point to anything he did? Why did he even bother to go on living? At least to that last question he might have some answer; he was, perhaps, to much of a coward to even take his own life.

Percy was not entirely sure of how much time passed, or even how long he might have kept on running. But, one night, one dream would change everything.

* * *

 

The dream would begin with a scene that Percy had seen to many times when he closed his eyes. The destruction of Whitestone was painted all to vividly in the angry flames that had lit up the dark night of the feast. He could hear the screams of people dying in agony, either being left to burn alive or put to death by the sword of the Briarwoods' followers. He always saw his family dying in horrible ways during these dreams. His memories of that night were so clouded and murky that he wasn't entirely sure which members of his family he had actually seen dead and those that his imagination had conjured up torture him more.

And there was always smoke. Thick, black smoke rising from the ruins of the place he had called his home. The smoke always choked him, and sometimes seemed to swirl so thickly around him that he felt almost trapped in it's embrace, held hostage and powerless.

But that was not the case tonight. Tonight, even as the scene which he had relived so many times played out, the smoke was acting differently. It was still everywhere, but instead of suddenly rising up to strangle and entrap him, it now almost felt like it was embracing him, circling around him as though offering a barrier of protection against what he was seeing. And as Percy watched this strange behavior of the smoke, strangely fascinated, the smoke directly in front of him began to change as well.

Percy had never seen anything like it: the swirling smoke seemed to coalesce into a corporal form. Red hot coals seemed to form it's eyes. It had no legs, but from it's upper torso, long spindly arms ending in long sharp claws. On top of it's head were twisting horns of smoke that swirled in and out of view. It stared straight at Percy, as though it were looking directly into his soul.

Percy felt his hair stand straight up along the back of his neck. Shivers of dread skated down his spine. This was a part of the dream which he had never witnessed, and he had no idea what it could mean.

For a long silent moment, the red eyes of the smoke figure stared at him. Percy couldn't avoid that gaze, though a part of him might have dearly wished to. Finally, the smoke creature spoke, in a deep, gravelly voice that reverberated around Percy's skull like a never-ending thunderclap. “You see this scene before you, Percival. You see it every night.”

Percy, still convinced that he must be in the grip of a particularly intense nightmare, didn't think to question how this figure of smoke knew his name. But, he could not hide the awful stab of quilt that pierced him again. The fact that he had to relive this night again and again was hard enough; being reminded of the suffocating guilt was worse.

However, what the Smoke said next took him completely by surprise. “You are not at all to blame for what happened to them, you know.” The voice was still disturbingly deep, otherworldly in tone. However, it was also strangely soothing, comforting. Even the red eyes seemed to burn with a sympathy to Percy's situation.

“You're wrong.” he said, uncertain how he should address this thing that was appearing before him. “I should have done something more, I should have been able to save them. But, I ran. I was a coward, and my family paid the price.”

“But, you are wrong, Percival.” said the Smoke, which suddenly moved towards him, swirling around behind him. Percy gasped when he felt those spindly, sharp fingers wrap around his shoulders. They were surprisingly strong for a figure made out of smoke, and hot to the touch. Instinctively, he tried to pull away, but the smoke held him fast. “Are you forgetting the people who really murdered your family?”

Before Percy's eyes, the flames and smoke of Whitestone began to take on the shapes and features of people, as shadowy as the smoke he now spoke to, but which all stirred feelings in Percy that had nothing to do with guilt.

“Sir Kerrion Stonefell,” the Smoke said, as thought announcing a great personage at a feast, and the figure of Stonefell appeared before them. “He was the chief of the Briarwoods' guards, the one who led the invasion of your home. You saw him kill your sister, Whitney and your mother, Johanna. Moreover, he oversaw the destruction of your family and your home.”

Stonefell's form passed on, dissolving into smoke, only to be replaced by another form, that of a woman that Percy was all to familiar with. “Dr. Anna Ripley, she tortured you, tried to break you in order that you might tell the secrets of your home. However, I think that she just enjoyed it herself.”

As before, Ripley's smoke figure vanished, and out of it grew another, more familiar form, one which filled Percy with a nearly uncontrollable rage. “And this face, this face you know very well, do you not, Percival? Professor Anders, your tutor. He was a faithful servant and a trusted friend. But he betrayed you to the Briarwoods.”

Faced with even a form of Anders was enough for Percy to lose all control. Screaming with anger, he surged forward at Andres, but the figure vanished, the smoke swirling around him. He coughed and tried to wave the smoke away. He couldn't escape completely though, as he suddenly heard the Smoke form at his ear again, laughing and whispering with approval. “Yes, yes, good, you begin to understand. But, Percival, all these were but pawns and tools. Forget not who were the main masterminds.”

Now the smoke and flames came together to form the images of Lord and Lady Briarwood. “You know these people, Percival. I don't have to tell you who they are. These people came to your home under false pretension, betraying your family's trust and hospitality. Now, they have taken your home, your heritage and your family.”

Percy stared at the smoky, hazy figures of Lord and Lady Briarwood. As he did so, he began to feel a surge of something beyond just helpless guilt: rage, anger, hatred, all starting to slowly merge together in the pit of his stomach. The Smoke at his ear seemed to sense this, and said, “You see, Percival, these are the people who are truly responsible for the death of your family, not you. I can feel your pain, your anger. I have come to offer you a gift for all that you have lost: justice. Take their lives without mercy, without remorse. Teach them what it is to lose everything, before you take their lives as repayment for your family.”

Percy turned to look into the glowing red eyes of the Smoke. The look of cruel delight he saw there made him take a few steps back. “Justice? That's not justice. That's revenge.”

The Smoke actually chuckled, as though Percy had said something incredibly funny. “Justice, revenge. It's quite rare that there's ever much of a difference between the two. Tell me, do you honestly think that the Briarwoods' fate would be different if their deeds could be proved in a court of law? Wouldn't they simply be destroyed?”

Percy's mind was confused; hazy from the smoke, the memories, and this strange dream which was now feeling more and more real. The Smoke was beginning to make perfectly logical sense to him. The Smoke seemed to understand what he had lost. After so many years of being alone, Percy could not began to describe how comforting that was.

“I think that your silence answers that question.” said the Smoke, with a grim satisfaction. “I offer you the chance to take justice into your own hands. I can give you knowledge and the guidance you need to take your vengeance. You will be able to avenge your family, and you will finally know peace.”

“And what are you expecting in return?” Percy asked, a part of his mind trying to tell that this was a very bad idea, even if it was only a dream. However, he didn't want to listen to that part of himself anymore. He wanted to do something. He was tired of running.

“Why, nothing of true value, Percival. Indeed, a trifle. I want the souls of all that you offer up in the name of vengeance.” Suddenly, the smoke-filled, twisted face of Percy's enemies flashed before his eyes. The images were so intense, they were painful. Percy dropped to his knees, clutching his skull. He heard himself screaming, though whether it was a cry of anguish or rage, he didn't even know. In his mind, the Smoke's voice roared. “Tell me, could you really mourn the loss of people like these?”

Towering above him was the Smoke, nightmarish, unnatural and terrifying. However, this was the only entity that Percy felt understood him and could help him. “What say you to this deal, Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski de Rolo III? Will you take the justice and vengeance that is yours' by right?”

Percy did not hesitate. All rational though, all caution was gone by this point. He wanted to make things right. If he could not get his family back, he would have justice on those who murdered them. What else did he have left?

“I accept.”

The Smoke smiled, his red eyes glowing in triumph. “Together, Percival, we will make justice.”

With those words, the smoke dissolved into a tornado of ash, fire and black suffocating sulfur. It swirled around Percy in a blinding mass, and he felt as though something or someone was boring into his body, his skull, his very soul. His entire body burned, and he cried out in pain.

* * *

 

That cry was what caused him to wake. He sat bolt upright, heart pounding. Sweat glistened on his skin and his breathing harsh. He looked around the forage where he had been working throughout the entirety of that day. He had slumped across the work-bench when exhaustion had finally claimed him at sundown.

The room itself was completely silent and still. Percy looked over at the forage, wondering if perhaps there might have been some lingering smoke from his work that had inspired his dream. But there was not so much as a wisp of smoke or a spark of flame. Soft beams of moonlight spilled through the crack in woodwork.

Shaken, Percy rose to his feet. Leaning against the bench for support, he rubbed his face with his hands. “It was a dream.” he said, softly to himself. “It was only a dream.”

Yet, as sleep left him, and he began to think more clearly, there could be no denying that something about this dream had been different than just a simple vision of his troubled mind. Instead of feeling tired and drained, as he usually did after his dreams, he now felt a strange feeling of clarity and purpose.

His family was dead. He couldn't change that. But, he would change one thing: he could change his own fate. He was the only de Rolo left. He didn't know why he was the one who had been spared, but, spared he had been. He would use that life to make his own justice and revenge.

Percy's eyes had been dull and lifeless voids ever since the night his family died. Now, as this thought crystallized in his mind, they brightened with a spark of new life, and became hardened with purpose.

From out of nowhere, inspiration struck him: the idea for a weapon, unique and unlike any other he had ever seen. It was a weapon that fired thunder and fire, a weapon designed to kill without mercy or remorse, just the sort o vengeance he would visit upon the Briarwoods, and all who threatened to stand in his way. He got to work, beginning to design what would become his first gun.

Percival Fredrickstein Von Musel Klossowski, de Rolo III had never believed that he would turn into anyone special. Now, he was thrust unwillingly into an unfortunately special position. He was the last de Rolo of his family, but he would make sure that everyone he encountered in the future would know his name. He would have his vengeance, if it was the very last thing he ever did.


	2. Exit (Vex and Vax)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As might be evidenced by the title of this entry, this is part of the back-story for our favorite pair of Half-elf twins. This particular song came from Liam O'Brian's playlist, which can be found on Critical Role's Geek and Sundry website. As I was listening to this song, this is the scene that came into my mind. Hope that you all enjoy it.

Exit (Vax and Vex):

Wake.. from your sleep  
The drying of your tears  
Today we escape, we escape

Pack.. and get dressed  
Before your father hears us  
Before all hell breaks loose

Breathe, keep breathing  
Don't lose your nerve  
Breathe, keep breathing  
I can't do this alone  
Exit Music for a Film  
Radiohead

****************  
Vax'ildan and Vex'ahalia have endured to many years of icy indifference from their father. It is time for them to exit to pursue a different life. Now, they only have each other, but perhaps, that was all that they really needed.   
***************  
The Autumn night was young. The moon was waning, and the light which it cast upon the streets of the city below was negligible. The shadows of the alleyways were slightly darker than they normally were. Mist and fog swirled gently in the streets, obscuring the vision of the guards who were patrolling the streets of the Elven capital of Syngorn. 

It was a perfect night to exit.

The house of the Elven Ambassador Sildor stood dark and silent. This part of the city did not usually tend to draw any violent activity, even in the dead of night. The patrols didn't really bother to watch closely for trouble, and those who lived in the house were already asleep. So, no one was able to see   
the two shadowy figures who were climbing deftly out of one of the second story windows. 

Vax'ildan reached the ground first, somehow seeming to find hand and foot holds along vertical smooth that appeared to be completely smooth. He paused, listening intently for any sign from within the house that their escape had been discovered. However, all remained quiet. He glanced up at his sister, who was already more than half-way down the wall. “Be careful, Vex.” he whispered, “This whole thing will be for nothing if anyone spots us.”

Vex'ahlia paused in her climbing to shoot a mock glare down at her brother. “If you're implying that you're a better climber than me, I would beg to differ.”

Vax rolled his eyes, though he did realize that Vex was attempting to keep both of them calm. They had planned for this, and neither of them was backing out now. That didn't mean that there was no small amount of nervousness in them both. “Really? You want to start arguing skill sets now of all times?”

Vex had already climbed down the wall, and jumped the last few feet, landing lightly beside Vax. She passed him a small smile, and winked. “I am merely saying that we are equally good at a very few things, and one of those is wanting to get out of a place where we don't want to be. This is one of those times.”

“Fair enough.” said Vax, he made his way down the wall of the house, and glanced out into the street. “You sure that the guards won't be coming down this way?”

Vex huffed, as she moved up beside her brother. “I happen to have gotten my information from a very reliable source, Vax. The patrols in this section of the city only pass by here every few hours. The last one went by ten minutes ago. If we follow the plan, we shouldn't run into any of them.”

Vax, who had been looking up and down the street as he tried to determine where they should move next, couldn't help but feel a little disturbed by the note of perfect confidence that he heard in Vex's voice. He looked back at her, with a slight frown. “Do I want to know how you happened to acquire this information?”

“I winked at the right people.” said Vex, with a tone that clearly meant something else, but which Vax didn't really have the courage to inquire about. 

Conversation between the two fell silent for a few moments, as they continued to listen and watch for any other sign that they had been spotted. However, there was only silence, save for the distant running of the streams which surrounded Syngorn and the whistling wind through the buildings and alleys of the city itself. The twins allowed themselves to take in a slight breath of relief. But the goal was still a long way off, and they couldn't allow themselves to lose focus for a moment.

“Well, I suppose we had better get going then.” said Vex, who couldn't help but sound slightly on edge. It was understandable, given what they were about to do. Yet, Vax wanted to make certain that she was as sure about this as he was. 

“You know, if you wanted to go back now,” he said softly, “I wouldn't think the less of you.”

Vex's eyes met those of Vax, and he saw the steely determination enter that he knew so well enter her gaze. She squared her shoulders and said, “Do you honestly think that I'm going to let you go off on your own and get killed before your a mile out of the city? Lead on, Vax. I'll follow you wherever you go.”

The two of them took one last look to make certain that their was no one about, before they stepped into the street and began to make their way down to the gates of Syngorn. It would have been difficult even for the eyes of the Elves to spot the two of them. They seemed to melt by instinct into the shadows which surrounded them, darting between the sheltered and hidden places of the city streets as easily as others would walk down a street in plain daylight. Of the two of them, Vax seemed to have a slight advantage, which was why he took the lead. Vex, however, was a keen observer, and was more than able to follow wherever his shadow seemed to lead. 

If anyone had managed to catch sight of these two, and had they been merely concerned with observation rather than capture, they would have seen a very rare and near perfect example of two people who seemed to move and act as one entity. Vax'ildan and Vex'ahlia had always had a special bond. Part of this might have come from the fact that they were twins, and had rarely spent any time apart from each other in the entire course of their lives. But, there was a great deal more that bound them together then simply that. In truth, the true strength of their relationship might very well have come from the fact that no one else understood them as well as they did each other. 

Being twins, Vax and Vex greatly resembled each other in physical appearance. The dark, brown hair and almond-shaped eyes that were the color of auburn, they had gotten from their human mother, a peasant from a village a long way from Syngorn. The slightly pointed ears and the delicate, almost ethereal quality of their features they had inherited from their Elven father, who was an Ambassador for the Capital. Yet to say that they really took after neither of their parents in personality or vocation would have been the most accurate thing of all to say. 

Vax was a man who had always been hard to read. His had been a life which had inured him to being alone. Poverty in childhood, coolness and distance from a father who never really bothered to get to know them, along with the general stigma of being a half-blood no matter which race he happened to find himself in, had made him realize that the only way to avoid being hurt, was to never allow anyone to get to close, and to never trust anyone. Vax was a rogue in every sense of the word. He kept to the shadows, not only those that were physical and found in the back alleys of buildings and houses, but those shadows which came from emotions as well. He had developed a talent for being able to see everything that others might have wanted to hide, while remaining completely invisible himself. Living with the Elves had taught him that living behind a mask was often the best form of defense and offense. Aside from the way of blades, it was the only useful thing which they had taught him. 

Vex was more open than her brother, or she seemed to be, at least. Whereas Vax operated best from the shadows, she was far more talented at drawing people out through charm and persuasion. It is not so much the presence of a pretty woman that causes others to speak so freely of their secrets; it is a pretty woman who knows exactly what to say at exactly the right moment, and who knows how to listen closely. Vex knew how to do both. Such skills had proven useful thus far. She was often the one who had to smooth out the difficulties which Vax's temper had caused him to stumble into. She was not, however, any happier in the company of a people who had never entirely accepted her. Vax found his protection in the shadows. Vex relied on her quick wits and the intricacy of conversation to keep her from getting to close to anyone. When that didn't work, her aim with a bow was truer than anyone else's, and she was never afraid to use it when the need arose. 

So, in their own ways, both similar and different, the twins had each found their own ways to protect themselves. Now, they had reached maturity, and they were exiting the place which had sheltered them for six years. They had never called it home. A home, they had learned from their mother, was a place of love, safety, and acceptance. Why their father had suddenly decided to take them to Syngorn was a mystery which they had never been able to fully understand. He had educated them, and that was probably the only good thing he had ever attempted to do for them. Beyond that, he had treated them with the coldness of two strangers living within his own home. 

There is only so much of such treatment that anyone could take. Neither Vex nor Vax had said in so many words that it was time for them to leave Syngorn in order to make their own way in the outside world. But, just by mutual unspoken agreement, they had quietly begun to make their plans to escape from Syngorn. 

 

They had waited until their father was far away from Syngorn. He may not have care for them personally, but he would have been humiliated if his own bastard children had managed to sneak away from right under his nose. 

Once their father was gone, they had discretely gathered as much food and money as they possibly could. Vax had stolen the great majority of that. He didn't feel any shame about stealing from the man who had treated him and his sister so badly. Vex had inquired of the guards their patterns of watch, and just how many of them were out on any given night. 

Finally, all was prepared for the night of their exit. They had made their way easily enough through the streets, avoiding guards and passing citizens. No one saw them, or if they did, they would not have cared. It was passing the last hour of the night when they finally slipped through the gates of Syngorn, exiting the city of Elves, and the life of their father, for good.

They traveled down the road for a few miles, until they came to the top of a small hill. Vex paused, and took a moment to look back at Syngorn. Vax had been traveling ahead, but he still sensed that Vex had stopped. He turned and looked back at her curiously. Behind them, the lights of Syngorn were glimmering faintly. Vex looked anxious, nervous. Vax didn't think that she would lose her nerve this far along in their plan, but nonetheless, he stepped forward and put his arms around her shoulders. 

“Where do we go from here?” Vex asked, “Syngorn may never have been a real home, but it was safe.”

“We'll go wherever the road will take us.” said Vax, “And we'll find our way, together.” 

Vex still seemed somewhat unsure, and Vax could not help but ask. “Are you sorry you came with me?”

Vex turned her face to look at him, and there he could see that though she was frightened at what the uncertainty of the future would bring, there was not the slightest hint of regret in her expression. “Vax, not for a second.”

With that brief exchange, Vax'ildan and Vex'ahlia turned their backs on Syngorn and once more began to follow the road away. In front of them, was a vast, unknown new world. Yet, all that uncertainty was preferable to facing a life of the coldness of the man who should have been the most important person in their lives. However, if there was anything which either of them had learned in their lives, it was the most reliable thing which either of them was each other. Perhaps, on this journey into the unknown, that was all that they needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to admit that I love these two. They have probably the most honest relationship of any of the characters in the cast, simply because they have been through so much together.


	3. Satellite

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think we can agree that Trinket is one of the best-loved characters on Critical Role. He is just to adorable for words, though he could probably still rip your face off, if he thought that you would try hurting his Vex. As for Vex herself, Trinket seems to be one of the few people who can really bring out the Ranger's softer side. I have tried to capture some of that warmth, so I hope that you enjoy it. 
> 
> Of course, the chapter title and opening lyrics are from the song Satellite by Sara Bareilles. Again, this song is part of Laura Bailey's excellent play list for Vex'ahlia.

Satellite (Vex and Trinket):

_A short time after her world seems to have bottomed out, a Half-Elf comes across a most unexpected gift: someone who needs her as much as she needs him. On that dark night, Vex finds a small light, a satellite in need of an anchor. It is only in heeding this call, that Vex is able to find her own orbit in a bear named Trinket._

You may find yourself in the dead of night  
Lost somewhere up in the great big beautiful sky  
You were all just perfect little satellites  
Spinning round and round this broken earthly life  
  
This is so you'll know the sound  
Of someone who loves you from the ground  
Tonight you're not alone at all  
This is me sending out my satellite call  
Satellite Call

Sara Bareilles

* * *

“Bastards.” growled Vex'ahlia, as she surveyed her handiwork of the evening: three dead poachers who had thought that they could cage the defenseless woman they had managed to surprise in the woods. They had quickly learned that they had been wrong. It had also been the last lesson which they had learned.

It had really been her own stupidity that had gotten her into this situation. On her better days, she would have been more alert to the poachers who had jumped her just as she was setting up camp for the night. There were days when she would have been able to get to her bow a little faster.

As it was, the poachers had been able to overpower her, and drag her back to their camp deep in the woods. She had kicked and fought every single step of the way, of course, and the poachers were left with more than a few bruises to contend with as they threw her into one of the cages on the outskirts of their camp.

Vex had known that whatever these poachers were after, it was not meant to be a clean hunt. She saw the heavy chains, the cruel spikes of traps that were left along the paths which the creatures of the forest trod. There were meat hooks and large knives with dried blood on them, along with other cages of varying sizes.

During that short hour when she had been using all of her skills to escape from the cage, she had also heard another sound coming from the other end of the camp, a low, painful sound that was somewhere between a moan and a growl. It came and went, carried on the dark breeze like an eerie song suffering. More than a few times, she noticed the poachers disappear in the direction of the sound. She would hear loud shouts of anger and the dull sound of something heavy slamming into an object of great mass. There would be silence after these blows, but the moaning growl would begin again almost as soon as the poachers left.

The poachers knew their craft, and there would have been little chance of anyone happening to come across Vex in order to rescue her. As it was, however, all the great pains of the poachers to keep their camp secret from prying eyes came to nothing, as Vex had never needed to rely on anyone's help but her own.

There is really no need for details, suffice to say that Vex could recover quickly for a setback. The poachers had not been able to hold her in that cage for less than an hour before she had broken free and killed all three of them before they had any chance to defend themselves.

That was how she now found herself standing in the middle of their camp, still breathing heavily from the adrenaline of the combat, her bow clutched tightly in her hand. Honestly, she really didn't know what to do. She had never actually killed another person before. Though she did not regret taking the lives of these low-down scum, the sight of the bloodied bodies of the poachers and the blank expressions in their still open eyes could not do anything but disturb her.

“Come on, Vex, pull yourself together.” she chided herself, as she squared her shoulders. “You are not some simpering child. Try to figure out the best way to go forward.”

Her words were far more confidant than she felt. She couldn't help but wish for Vax's presence at this moment. Her twin had found refuge in the cities and towns which they passed through after the death of their mother. He could find solace by melting into the crowd and becoming just another anonymous face. Vex, however, preferred the isolation of the woods. At least, for the most part. There were times when she would have liked to have had at least one other person in her life who understood her, and that she could rely on.

Thinking of Vax, however, did give her some inspiration. These poachers were dead now. Most likely whatever was in their camp had been stolen or bought through crooked means anyway. It could now technically be claimed by anyone. After all, it was not like they needed it now, or would be needing it a great deal in the future.

Steeling herself, she went to each of the bodies in turn and looted what she could from the corpses. It was not entirely pleasant, as the bodies had already started to smell, but the gold coins and small assorted weapons and trinkets that she could most likely sell in town upon her next meeting with Vax made it all worth it.

There was, also, a set of keys on the lead poacher. Vex took those, as well, as she had no way of knowing just what sort of chests or boxes might be locked within the wagons and tents of the camp. She searched diligently for the next half hour, methodically going through every single thing that appeared to be of interest. Once she had finished, she had acquired food, extra blankets and more gold coin that she would be sure to save up before putting it to good use.

And yet, something still seemed wrong about the camp. As she exited the last tent, she suddenly heard it again: that low, pained growling noise, the shifting and clinking chains and the creaking of wooden pegs and joints. Drawn by a force that she would not have been able to properly identify, Vex moved towards the sound. Rounding a thick hedge, she stopped short and gasped in horror at what she saw before her.

It was large, female bear in a cage. She had been chained, back and front paws bound together and secured to the bars of the cage. Her mouth was also muzzled and chained to the cage. She had been chained for a very long time, as the iron had cut through her fur and flesh, leaving wounds which must have caused her agony every time she moved, the chains rubbing and cutting even deeper into the raw flesh. She had not been fed in quite some time, and was literally nothing but skin and bones.

However, there were also deep gashes and slashes all across her body. Vex now knew what those meat hooks and knives were intended for: harvesting body parts and organs. The fresher the parts, the higher the price, so they must have endeavored to keep the animals they trapped alive for as long as possible. The suffering which they inflicted in order to get these parts did not matter to them. They simply took what they wanted and left the creature to die a slow, agonizing death.

Vex had never seen such suffering. The sight touched something inside of her which she had not been aware of for quite some time. She slowly came up to the bars of the cage, and knelt down in front of the bear, so that they could look into each others' eyes. When the bear saw the Half-Elf shape approaching, she shifted, a look of fear appearing in her eyes. Perhaps, she thought that she was one of the poachers, come to torment her with blows or with the meat hooks.

“Shh, it's all right.” said Vex, quietly. “I'm not one of them. I'm nothing like them.”

Vex didn't know if the bear would even understand her. However, when she spoke, the bear stopped straining against the chains that held it down. It's large eyes gazed up into her own, and the spark of fear that Vex had seen in them gradually faded. She let loose a muffled sound, almost as is she were asking a question about Vex's true affiliations.

“They're dead now, the men who did this to you. They won't be able to hurt you anymore.”

She couldn't help but wince when she said those words. She only needed to look at the bear's wounds to know that there was no chance of the animal ever being able to recover. The bear seemed to sense as well that it's life was ebbing away. She was moaning again, pained and exhausted. Vex couldn't help but wonder how this animal had managed to dredge up the will to hold out for so long.

Tentatively, Vex reached a hand through the bars, and placed a hand on the head of the bear. She slowly stroked it's fur, and she felt tears sting her eyes. She didn't really know why she was crying. It just seemed so useless to her, the death of this bear. It reminded her of the useless death of her mother, killed by a dragon without even knowing that she would one day see her children again. She had never felt so powerless then, or now.

“I'm so sorry.” she whispered, through her tears, “I'm sorry. I wish that there was more than I could do.”

The bear looked up at her, and it seemed as though she understood everything that Vex was feeling. Her large, dark eyes flashed for just a moment with what Vex could swear was a strange form of forgiveness. She found herself hoping that maybe this bear, in whatever strange way, didn't judge her in the same light as the poachers who had destroyed her life.

It was in that moment, that Vex realized that she couldn't simply leave this creature to a long, lingering death alone in the woods, chained in a cage. She deserved a better fate. There was nothing that she could do to heal the bear, but she could prevent days of suffering.

Slowly, she rose to her feet, took out an arrow from her quiver and put it to her bow, and aimed it at the head o the bear. “Forgive me.” she said, softly, “I can only give you this mercy.”

Again, the bear seemed to have a strange understanding of what she was intending, and went very still. She was giving Vex the best shot that she could. For several seconds, Vex found herself frozen and unable to move, trying to work up the nerve to actually shoot the arrow and end it. When she did finally release the arrow, she was not ultimately aware if it was her own control or her nerves that made her do it. However, the arrow still flew true, burying itself deeply in the skull of the bear. The bear did not even give out a single cry of pain at the impact; it merely went limp, and the light which had been in those eye, slowly an peacefully faded.

Silence fell over the little clearing. Vex felt her hands shaking, could her heart pounding in her ears. This was worse, somehow, than the feeling she had just had about killing the poachers. Killing the bear may have been an act of mercy, yet it should have been totally unnecessary. She sank to her knees, as she felt herself beginning to cry even harder than she had before. She had never felt so lost, so powerless. Aside from Vax, she didn't know what she was living for or what she was meant to do.

It was in the moment when she had never felt more alone, however, that something happened. Whether it was a moment of pure chance or part of some larger plan, it was a moment that changed the course of her life.

Vex heard the small, snuffing cries emanating from the cage. She immediately tensed, expecting some sort of unexpected attack. However, upon hearing the pathetic nature of the noises, she realized that such a creature could not possibly be a threat to her. Rather, it was something that might be in need of air. Getting to her feet, she peered into the cage. And there, huddled against the dead body of it's mother, was a cub. He was the one making those sounds, as he nuzzled the unmoving, cold body of his mother, confused and frightened as it why she was no longer responding with comfort.

Vex now realized what had driven the mother bear to survive for so long against the pain and exhaustion: she had wanted to protect her cub. Who knows what sort of atrocities the poachers had planned to do with the cub once it's mother was dead?

The cub, who appeared to be about six months old, kept pawing and nuzzling at it's mother. Vex knew that the cub wouldn't be able to survive for very long on it's own. She couldn't help feeling a new stab of guilt at the fact that she had inadvertently made this cub an orphan. The cub, as though sensing it's gaze upon him, finally turned and looked up at her with it's pleading eyes. “I'm sorry.” she whispered, softly, “I had no other choice.”

The cub regarded her in what could only be called a quizzical manner. It seemed that he did not know exactly what to make of her. However, after a moment, he did something which caught Vex completely by surprise. He looked one last time at his mother, before coming over to the door of the cage. He looked up into her face, in his eyes, an expression of complete trust. He was looking to her for protection now.

Vex hesitated only a moment. She had been searching for something or someone to give her a sense of purpose. Perhaps, without even looking for it, she had found exactly that. Using the keys which she had taken from the poachers, she unlocked the door. Immediately, the cub walked out, straight into her arms. She held the warm, furry body close to her chest, making a promise to both herself and the cub, “I'll take care of you now. You don't have to be afraid. I'm here. You're not alone anymore.”

* * *

 

Vex carried the bear cub with her through the forest, easily making her way back to her own campsite. The cub was half asleep in her arms by the time they made it back to safety.

Night had fallen, and the sky overhead was dotted with myriads of stars, shining and shimmering like diamonds in the black vault of the heavens above. Vex felt a sense of peace overcome her as she looked up at those pin-pricks of light. She took a deep breath of the air around her, quietly reveling in the scent of the trees and earth that surrounded her. This was where she belonged. In Syngorn, there had always seemed to be eyes constantly upon her, judging her every move, and always coming up wanting. Here, isolated from the rest of the world, she could finally be her own person.

She didn't bother with a fire, as it would be warm enough throughout the night. She felt exhausted, and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bedroll and sleep. However, she found herself staring up into the sky for a long time, captivated by the lights which she saw above her. Eventually, she felt a small nuzzling at her side, and found that the cub was trying to get into the bedroll with her. She laughed, a strange sound that she had not heard in a long time. “Trying to get in here with me, are you?”

The cub looked at her with his large, round eyes, and made a sound that resembled a pathetic squeak. Vex sighed, and shook her head. “Oh, I do believe that look is going to be the death of me. All right, come on.” She lifted part of the blanket, and the cub immediately dove under the blanket and curled up alongside Vex, snuffling happily.

Vex stroked the soft fur of the cub. “We have a lot in common, you know.” she mused, aloud. “We're both orphans, at least in a way. I don't have a mother, either, actually. And my father... Well, I'd rather not get into that. I can't say if your sire is alive, but I highly doubt whether he cares if you live or die, just like mine.” She paused, and then smiled ironically. “Although, of the two of us, you might have the easier time of it. Your father probably can't help his nature. Mine had the choice, and he never made the right one.”

The cub seemed to be listening to her, and Vex wondered just how much he might be understanding. “I suppose if I’m going to be taking care of you from now on, you'll be needing a proper name.” She took a moment to think on this, and her smile grew wider. “Vax is always boasting about the trinkets which he's able to steal from people who would never notice that they're missing. Now, it seems that I’ve got one of my own. What do you think of Trinket?”

Vex could have sworn that there was a spark of excitement in the bear's eyes when he heard this. He lifted his head and licked Vex several times on the face. Vex once more heard herself laughing, and this time, she didn't stop until the tears were streaming down her face. “All right, all right, I think we've reached a consensus, Trinket it is.”

As the newly named Trinket at last settled down, he placed his head on Vex's chest, right above her heartbeat, and let out a small sigh of satisfaction. Vex, a genuine smile now on her lips, settled back herself and looked once more up at the sky. “You see those stars, Trinket?” she said, after a moment. “My mother always said that each one is a center of gravity, that they pull other things towards them, steadying them and giving them direction.” She looked down at Trinket, and found herself holding him just a little bit closer. “You may never know just what you did for me tonight, Trinket. I think that I was lost in my own night, and then, you came spinning into my life. You'll never be alone now. I love you.”

It might have been a strange thing to say to a bear cub that she had taken in less than an hour before, but for Vex, nothing had ever felt so right before. With Trinket curled up beside her, Vex soon found sleep herself. Beneath the stars they slept, two perfect satellites finally finding a proper orbit and a steady course.


	4. Luck (Thorbir)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Thorbir, everyone's favorite, grumpy and perpetually unlucky Dwarf. Ever since meeting his character during the arc of the Slayer's Take, I found myself very much intrigued by Thorbir. He might be unlucky, but he is by no means an idiot (probably a big tribute to the way that Wil Wheaton plays him). There are also a few subtle references to Thorbir's daughter, which I also kind of liked. It kind of gives a purpose to Thorbir's actions, showing that there is something very dear to him which he is fighting for. 
> 
> So, anyway, here is just a little character study of Thorbir.

Luck (Thorbir):

_Luck has never been one of Thorbir's gifts. Indeed, he might have been said to be cursed in his perpetual bad luck. However, he has enough to say that he is actually quite fortunate._

* * *

 

Thorbir would have been the first to admit that luck had never been one of his gifts. Whether it was accidentally getting his ax stuck in a tree or walking straight into a wall that he should have seen coming, to any sort of accident in-between, Thorbir had seen more than his fair share of bad fortune.

He wouldn't have been able to say why this was exactly. Maybe he was a balance to someone who always had perfect luck, no matter what they did. Maybe he was supposed to serve as an inspiration in how not to do something. Maybe the universe had just wanted to play a cruel joke on him.

He didn't know. All he knew was that nothing really ever seemed to work for him, or at least, never the way he had been hoping or planning. He had married a beautiful Dwarven woman, only to have her run off with his best friend (or who he had thought was his best friend). He had never been very good at anything. Where he had come from, no one had wanted to take a chance on hiring him for anything, as he always seemed to break anything, injure bystanders, or just generally inadvertently destroy anything that he came into contact with.

There was only one thing in his life which he had ever been really good at, and that was fighting and killing things. Unfortunately, there had never been much call for that in the place where he had first called home. Eventually, he had been forced to leave just in order to keep himself fed.

Given these circumstances of his life, it was not perhaps surprising that Thorbir was hardly a cheery person to be around. The scowl on his face was more or less perpetual. His temper was short and he didn't take kindly to time wasters. He was not an optimist by any stretch of the imagination, and he always tended to view strangers with mistrust and suspicion.

It shouldn't be thought that his ill-luck had made Thorbir into a buffoon. His skills as a fighter couldn't be doubted, and even if his strikes weren’t always accurate, or the height of finesse, they got the job done. An enemy with it's head hacked off or with bits and pieces of it's body missing was still as dead as if they had been stabbed straight in the heart.

Also, Thorbir when he was angry was such a terrifying sight in and of itself that it caused most enemies to surrender or give up without a fight.

Thorbir also was more than capable of learning and retaining information. Whether he could ever remember that information in a timely fashion was the challenge. However, there were times and moments when Thorbor sensed something or remembered something that could defy even the rampant bad luck which continued to follow him.

There might have been some who wondered what inner force drove Thorbir despite all of his bad luck. He always seemed to push himself to be better, even in the face of his constant failures. But, what was the point when he would never be able to escape the bad fortune which seemed to constantly follow him?

The answer was, as many answers tend to be, quite simple. Thorbir had had one piece of good luck in his life time. Her name was Myrta.

His daughter had been only five when her mother left, leaving Thorbir with the sole responsibility of bringing her up. She did not remember her mother; Thorbir wanted to make sure that would always be the case. He didn't want Myrta's mother to ever have a part in her life. H had been successful so far, because Mytra only had eyes for her father. In her mind, she was the strongest and bravest dwarf who had ever lived.

He had brought her with him when he had first had to leave his home. She was the reason that he had first joined the Slayer's Take upon arriving in Vasselheim. He would do anything to provide for her, even if it meant routinely hunting monsters with people who were sometimes to incompetent to know what they were doing.

And it was in Vasselheim, that he began to feel as though things were changing. He still had bad luck, of course, but here, it didn't seem to matter quite so much. He began to learn how he could use that bad luck of his to his own advantage, noticing that if he made the right mistakes, his prey just might underestimate him. If he was going to have so much bad luck, he might as well make sure that those he hunted would have it, too.

And to his surprise, he began to succeed. Of course, most of the time, the slayings were a group effort. Still, for some reason, he began to be noticed more for his skills than for his ill-luck. Eventually, through a series of circumstances that not even he could have predicted, he found himself promoted to a team leader. He was not used to being this successful at something. However, he could not say that he didn't enjoy it.

He found himself beginning to wonder if there was more than just luck in determining one's fate. Maybe, always having the bad luck didn't mean that he would never have a good life.

He didn't know for sure. Thorbir had never claimed to be any good at philosophy. He was a fighter, and as long as some monster was dead at his feet, and the word made a safer place for his little Myrta, he did not care what outside force was responsible for the deed.

Upon his return from his latest mission of slaying that damned Rakshasa (this group had been a bunch on their first hunt. At first, he had had serious doubts that they would ever be able to pass the test. However, they had actually succeeded. What was more, all of them had managed to earn his respect. That, in and of itself, was not an easy thing to do), Myrta was the first to run and greet him. She had that beautiful smile on her face, and he actually found himself smiling himself. As he gave her a hug, and gave her the mask which he had purchased from the dealer in the Dusk Meadow, her delighted squeal and exclamation of joy was quite possibly the greatest reward which he ever could have asked for.

Thorbir was probably not the luckiest dwarf in the world. Yet, if he had been offered the chance of all the good fortune in the world, he probably would not have taken it. As long as he had someone to fight, he figured that he had more than enough.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to work in a few references to the fabled “Wheaton Curse” of always rolling really low. But, as the ending shows, even the most unlucky of us has something in our lives that can make us believe that at least a little bit of the universe is on our side.


	5. Breath (Raven Queen)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe that none of us Critters have gotten over the emotional trauma of seeing Vex die. This, the first time that a character has come back from the dead on the live-stream, is a moment that I don't think any of us will forget any time soon. 
> 
> This moment has prompted several wonderful, moving fan fictions told from various points of view, even Trinket (and thank you, lovely critter writers, for making me cry even harder). However, I couldn't help but notice that there is one rather important character that has not been explored, that of the Raven Queen herself. 
> 
> I couldn't help but wonder why she would give Vex her life back, when death is something that occurs naturally. What made her decide to make an exception this time? And well, this is what came out of that. So, here it is, an exploration of death from the one who understands it the best of all.

Breath (Raven Queen):

_Why do some live? Why do some die? And why do some come back? These are questions which have always been asked, but no one knows the real answers, save for the one who knows death the best. In the end, there is only a very little thing which separates life and death: a single breath._

* * *

 

It has been a long time since the foot of a living creature has stirred the tomb of my last champion. What with the Beholder and the other dangers that exist at the bottom of this lake, no one who has attempted to retrieve this artifact has managed to succeed, alive at least.

The first one who catches my eye is that of a young human, with hair white as bone, and a strange sort of weapon attached to his back. I look deeper, and I sense something about this one which sets him apart.

How very interesting. He has had a brush with the darkness himself, and knows what it is like to kill without mercy. He might be worthy to wear my symbol, provided he can survive opening the sarcophagus, not an easy feat in and of itself.

Then, another being comes bounding in after him, a female this time. Her pointed ears and ethereal features mark her as being of Half-Elven descent. She moves with a quick lightness, and she carries her bow with the self-assurance of one who knows how to use it quickly and without remorse. She is also followed by the lumbering gait of an armored bear. To tame such a creature is no easy feat, yet he looks at this Ranger as though he would die for her at any given moment.

Perhaps she is the one who will be my next champion.

Together, the human male and the bear manage to lift the lid of the sarcophagus. They will see the armor of my former champion, the studded leather and black feathers which only the chosen few of my followers used to wear, so long ago. It is hard to remember, sometimes, how much time has passed. When one presides over death as I do, there is only so much about the passage of time that one remembers.

I see the mistake that they will make before they are even aware of what they are tripping. It is sometimes the smallest of mistakes which can create the biggest consequences. The Ranger is bending over the side of the sarcophagus, no doubt checking for any sort of traps or enchantments. The Gunslinger, however, has his back turned to her. Not noticing what she is attempting, and perhaps unthinking of the danger, he reaches into the sarcophagus and touches the armor.

The trap is struck quickly. As the dark cloud rises from the body, the human is barely able to dodge out of the way. The bear and the Ranger, however, are caught up in the whirlwind of death energy which this resting place has been enchanted with. Though the bear seems to be in danger for a moment, it somehow manages to just scramble beyond the boundary of the spell's reach.

The Ranger is not so fortunate. For a moment, it seems as though the dark cloud forms itself around her, molding to her body and taking her very life-force, before throwing her violently the ground in a heap. She is cold, unmoving, a body without breath. She is dead.

Well, that certainly ended quickly. I am not disappointed. Many have attempted to open this tomb, none have succeeded. It has become almost expected to me that the shadow of my wings will pass over them to bring them to their final destination. I have respect for you, Ranger. Very few have even come this far. I will treat your passing with the dignity it deserves.

In that dark, formless place where my power resides, a place between solid reality and the after-life (whatever form of after-life people might believe in), my spirit begins to move over you, taking the breath which was your last from your now still form. It is a swift, painless process for you. Some that I have taken are writhing and screaming in agony. You, however, may not even remember the time you spent in my presence when you wake up, in whatever place your soul is bound.

But, even though I am swift, it seems as though your friends are faster. Before my task can be completed, I notice something that makes me pause. There are others entering the tomb. When they see your motionless body on the ground, I hear their exclamations of shock and horror. They don't want to believe what their eyes are seeing. Their disbelief quickly turns to an unbearable pain as the truth crashes in upon them.

I have seen it all so many times before, this progression from disbelief to grief. Maybe, once, before I was death, I might have felt compassion for what those who lose someone to embrace feel. Now, whenever I witness it, it is only with cool detachment. I understand why they feel the things that they do, but it does not change my duty.

They gather around you, your friends, and one of family. A Half-Elf like you, he bears features similar to yours', and the anguish on his face as he holds you in his arms is greater than all the others combined. So, a twin brother is it, one who is as quick on his feet as you, Ranger, but who keeps to the shadows of city streets and alleys. A thief and a Rogue, the one who knows you best of all.

They are desperate to try and stave off the inevitable. Admirable, but ultimately futile. The healing potions which they try to make you swallow have no effect. It's impossible to heal a body when there is no life left to revive.

I have this seen this all before as well. People, with the best intentions perhaps, try to deceive themselves into thinking that they can reverse what has already been done. Why can they not simply let the dead be taken in peace?

I would almost begin to pass my wings over your soul one more, Ranger. They have already taken to much time. The sooner that they realize you have passed beyond their help, the sooner they might be able to begin mourning and move on. And the sooner you may go to your rest.

However, what they begin to do next is... unique. They realize now that you are dead, but they are determined not to lose you. One by one, some of them begin to try and bring your life back through magical means. This intrigues me. It is so much more than most people do. Clearly, you mean a great deal to these people, Ranger. Perhaps, it might even be enough to convince me to give you back your life.

Contrary to popular portrayals, I am not greedy or grasping with the souls I take. In some ways, my power is as fragile and delicate as the single breath that separates life from death, and it is indeed only that single breath over which I reside. On the other hand, everyone must die eventually. All must feel the shadow of my wings. That being the case, why should I try and make a grab for every soul when they will all encounter me at some point, regardless of how desperately they try to stave off the moment?

I am not kind. I am not cruel. I am death. I simply am.

So it is with you, Half-Elf. Your family is so determined to rescue you. Those that stand far off do so not out of fear, but out of the belief that their skills will not help in this moment. But I can feel their quiet desperation, their fear of what might happen.

It is those who are gathered around you, though, that face the greatest test. One, the human Cleric, is the follower of a dark demon, one that I have encountered in passing during my years. He knows that his power comes from darkness, a darkness that he fears could be unleashed should he attempt to meddle in the forces of life and death. (Not that he would ever be able to fear that, though I am not going to mention that, of course. I would never allow Vesh to hold dominion in MY domain.) Yet, he only hesitates briefly before he begins the ritual.

He throws a handful of crystals on your chest, pulls fourth the holy symbol of his deity, and concentrates. The scars along his arms begin to glow an angry red, as his eyes grow to a solid black. Dark energy suddenly emanates from the crystals, as they shatter into a fine dust all along the Ranger's chest. The energy flows into her body, the magic force that is being unleashed enough to suspend her a few inches above the stone floor of the tomb.

It is a good start, but more must be accomplished. The human who first opened the tomb and set off the trap feels the guilt of his mistake. He tries to add his own magical element to the spell, three shards of magical residuum. However, he is not able to think clearly past the guilt. It distracts him to the point where what he can give is not enough to increase the power that is needed to pull loose a soul that has already been half-way enmeshed in my feathers.

The red Tiefling, a Warlock who has made a pact with the power of the moon attempts her own aid, pulling off an enchanted stone from the top of her staff, and placing it alongside the crystal dust on the chest of the Ranger. She closes her eyes, and mutters the words of a spell that will focus the power which her own patron has given her. She is strong enough, for the stone begins to glow with a dull white energy, which joins with the dark energy of the crystalline dust. The mist and cloud-like energy begins to take on a dull, gray glow, which hovers over and around her body.

I sense that your body is still resting in limbo, Ranger. It is closer to life than it was once only minutes before, but still in danger of passing on. I could just as easily take your breath and your soul right now. However, I still find that I am intrigued by the fact your friends are trying so hard to save you. Most would have given up by now, simply letting the moment pass by. However, it seems that they are not willing to let you go.

My presence has started to fill the shadows of the tomb since the Cleric began to his ritual. Subtly, at first, so that none are fully aware of it, until they saw my dark shape moving in the shadows above the sarcophagus. To their eyes, I am the form of woman covered in black feathers, a face of ever shifting shadow and darkness. They all gasp, the Cleric even taking a step back.

I allow my eyes to pass over everyone who is gathered in this tomb, staring at them all in turn. Finally, my eyes turn to your brother, Ranger, who is holding you in his arms, despair in his eyes, grief in his face. I must confess, it moves me to some degree. I am death, but I still answer the prayers of my followers to delay my touch, even for a day. Sometimes, I answer yes. Sometimes, the answer is no. I have not made up my mind yet with regards to this situation. The efforts of your friends have swayed me, Ranger. But it must be for your brother to make the final convincing.

So, go on, Rogue. Tell me why I should let your sister live. Convince me that it is the right choice.

He looks up at me, his tear-stained face growing suddenly hard and resolute. He looks at me, and speaks, his voice cold, angry and desperate all at once. “Take me, you feathered bitch. Take me instead.”

Such a bold statement. I would laugh, if I could remember how. You honestly think that I have not heard my name cursed more times than I could count? People fear me. They are angry with me when I take their lives or the lives of those which they care about. They blame me for death, when it is normally themselves or other forces which are to blame.

You think, Rogue, that you are the first twin which has ever pleaded with me to spare their sibling? I have heard that cry, too. You may think that you mean what you say about exchanging your life for that of your sister. Many people have said such things.

But, when faced with death itself, Rogue, just how greatly will your resolution hold?

I come closer to you. I do not lift my gaze from you, and indeed, as I come closer, I look ever deeper into your very soul. You do not waver from my gaze. You are not without fear, but there is something greater than your fear which keeps you strong. I see flashes of the life which have you led with your sister, the moments when you shared your lives together when there was no one else. I see how you have kept each other alive, both in body and soul throughout all the pain you have endured. I see... love.

I am death. I paid a high price for the power which I hold. There were certain things which I had to give up, which I now barely remember. But, every so often, something, or someone, helps to me to remember even a brief glimpse of the life that I can no longer remember.

Rogue, your plea is not unique. I have heard it many times. What sets it apart from so many others, is that it has helped me to actually feel your pain. I remember when I felt pain like that, the pain of losing a great love. I see that the love which you have for your sister and which she has for you, is greater than my power to prevent it.

I hold out my hand to you, Rogue, and I nod. I do this very rarely. It is a sign of acceptance, perhaps even a sign of thanks. Perhaps this is why I answer the prayer to delay the inevitable: because I, too, must remember.

I will give you back your life, Ranger. Your brother has passed the test. I must say, he is the first in a long time who has been a challenge to me. The price he has asked will be steep. I do not yet know what I will ask in return. For now, you have to come back.

I lift the shadow of my wings from you. The crushing weight lifts from your lungs as I raise my presence from you and draw it back into myself. With the last bit of power I have over your body, I push in the final breath that I took, letting it be your first.

Suddenly, your still body falls to the stone, and takes in several deep breaths. Everyone jumps and stares in astonishment, as though they fear that they are all imagining it. Howe strange it is that their reactions to life should be so similar to their reactions to death.

They all gather around you once more, their arms around you and helping you to your feet. They will help you to recover from what you have experienced. I watch, silent and invisible to their sight once more. You have been given a gift, Ranger, one which very few have ever been given. See to it that you do not waste the breath which has been given back to you.

This has been a rather strange episode for me, one which will be intriguing to see unfold. One of you, I think, will wear the armor, one of you will fight in my name. I will have my eye on you.

I have eyes everywhere. After all, I am death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In writing this, I wanted to try and make the Raven Queen as neutral as I possibly could. Everything which I came across in reference to her deity indicates that she is a neutral goddess. Therefore, I didn't want to make her outright evil or good. Still, I wanted to explore a little bit as to why she does grant the pleas of certain people to stave off death. After all, people die every day. I love Vex, of course, but what made her death any more or less tragic than someone else? By referencing the interesting fact that she was herself mortal before becoming a deity, I hoped that I have answered that question. 
> 
> I also tried to make a few other things deliberately vague. We don't know where this particular story-line will go. A lot of people have speculated that Vax will become the Raven Queen's new champion, but every week brings new insights and surprises for our characters. It could possibly go any number of ways. Besides, death herself is ambiguous. It only makes sense that she would leave a few things up in the air. 
> 
> But, that is my take on the Raven Queen. I look forward to seeing what you all thought.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for not having updated in so long. It's not a shortage of ideas, just a shortage of time. Real life can be a pain sometimes. Anyway, this story is meant to be the first in a series of one-shots that takes a look into the mind of Kaylee Shorthalt, an NPC that I has quickly become one of my favorites (along with practically every other NPC which has come from the mind of Matt Mercer, but that is a discussion for another time). I hope that you enjoy.

Why?: (Kaylee)

_Kaylee always thought that she knew exactly what she was going to do when she met her father. She'd rehearsed it, seen it all in her head. But, when faced with the reality of who he actually is, she finds all of her plans have been for naught, and she is only asking why?_

* * *

 

Why? Why did you have to ruin everything?

When my mother first told me what you had done to her, that was when I started planning. I told myself that I would find you one day, Scanlon Shorthalt, and I would tell you what you had done.

I thought that I had planned everything so well, and so carefully. I knew that you were a bard, so I spent my life learning that trade. It would be so much sweeter to beat you at your own game, when I met you.

Lying about my age to get into the White Duke's College was easier than I expected it to be. I excelled there, which I was rather proud of. Every so often, I was told stories about you. You were hailed as an amazing performer. There was no talk abut the scoundrel that you really were, how you used your silver tongue and irresistible charm to destroy lives.

It was a stroke of pure good fortune that I happened to catch the ear and eye of Dr. Dranzel, the very half-orc that that you had performed with. He was impressed with me. And I was happy to play with him until you crossed his path again. I had a suspicion that if luck was on my side thus far, it would eventually lead me to you.

And it did. That first day in the tavern, I knew who you were the moment I laid eyes on you. You were just like my mother described: charming, dashing, an unfeeling scoundrel

I might have laughed myself hoarse when you started flirting me. You had no idea, did you? Who I really was. You might have gone through with it if I hadn't been wise to you.

Still, it played well into my plans. When I came up to your room I introduced the subject casually, telling you about the hardships which my mother Sybil had gone through in order to make sure that we had food to eat and a roof over our heads.

I had my speech all rehearsed and planned in my head. I had envisioned the scene in my sleep so many times. I had practiced my part to perfection. I would confront you, expose you, humiliate you, and then I would take revenge for the lifetime of ruination that you had caused.

The one thing I had not counted on was that you wouldn't play your part. I knew how this was supposed to go. Men hated to be reminded of their bastard children. They hated to be saddled with the responsibility of their past embarrassments. They were supposed to blame their children for the wrongs which they themselves had caused.

That's what I had prepared for. And you ruined it all. Everything went according to plan, at first. You stammer and try to make excuses, how you didn't know, you try to avoid the blame which is all your own.

You don't remember Sybil, my mother, the one who you ruined and abandoned without a word. You invited your own daughter up to sleep with you. You don't know what it is to lose everything, nor what it is to have any sense or morals or consequences.

“You have no boundaries. Y'take what y'like and you keeping walkin' on.” I tell you, my voice biting and angry. “You trick folk.” To you, anyone else is simply there to further your own ends. And once you've squeezed everything you can from them, you leave them. Now, you're going to get just a taste of all that my mother and I suffered. “Now draw your blade.”

This was the moment that I had been dreaming of for so any years, the moment when I would humiliate you. Then you ruined it all. You didn't become angry, you didn't fluster or cower in fear. Instead, though you still had that look of confusion on your face, you don't make any sort of move to defend yourself. In your eyes, there is a strange light, one that I can't quite identify. But, it wasn't the reaction that I had always dreamed of or planned for.

And then you begin to speak, in a voice that is so different from what you used when you first began flirting with me. It's soft, gentle and filled with a strange sense of joy. “I-I don't want to fight you, if that's what your insinuating. Listen, I know that I’ve made... mistakes in my life. I-I've admitted as much before. And... I don't know why I'm this way. I-I must need to do a lot of searching to come up with an answer”

I stare at you, utterly taken aback by what I'm hearing. What sort of trick is this, Shorthalt? Surely, you can't give up this easily.

“But, there is a woman who I love very dearly and who I would do anything for and I'm trying to be a better person.”

I inwardly scoff at this. All that I have seen of you tells me that you haven't even tried to do that. Your next words only confirm this in my mind. “I haven't been to whorehouse in months. That's a big step for me! Big step!”

I feel my face tightening in anger, and my eyes must have taken you by surprise, because you start to stumble wildly over your words once more.

“I know that sounds callous and cruel. But I-I’ve tried to be a better person. If you're here to fight me, I'm afraid you're going to be terribly disappointed, because I will just let you kill me, if that's what it takes.”

I am completely taken aback. Out of all the dodges which I was expecting you to throw at me, all the little tricks I knew you would use in order to avoid me, this is the last thing I ever could have planned for. In fact, I haven't planned for it. You were supposed to be a self-centered asshole; that was the thing upon which this whole thing was supposed to work.

But the words you say next, slowly begin to get the better of all my best laid plans. “I didn't know you existed, and my heart is breaking a thousand times, now, for not knowing it. Every year that you've been alive is a year I could've been a better person, and known someone who could have made me a better person.”

The more I listen, the more I can feel myself starting to question. No, no, this wasn't the way this was supposed to go. Why can't you just play your part? This was the one thing that I hadn't planned a defense against. I had never expected you to be sincere.

“I'm only sorry that I didn't know it. If there's anything I can do from now on, if you are truly my blood I will, because among my many faults, ego is certainly one of them and knowing that you're a part of me makes me love you even more.”

For perhaps the first time since we have met, there is no hint of ulterior motive in what you're saying. The sincerity in your face, the earnestness of your words, you're telling the truth.

The fact that you've discovered I'm your daughter doesn't embarrass you. It only seems to have brought you joy. You haven’t played your part. And now, I don't know what mine is supposed to be. As the silence stretches out between us, my muscles tense, and I can feel the grip on my sword tightening. I want to do something, anything, but the hesitation I have now is impossible to ignore.

I don't know if you sensed my hesitation, but you don't take advantage of that to try and convince me to spare you. Instead, you just pull aside your shirt, showing your exposed chest. “Stab me right here, if you like, and I will not resist. You've earned it, take me.”

I feel myself starting to freeze up, the hand holding my sword tenses. Every carefully thought out speech, every gesture which I had practiced so meticulously in my role, all vanishes. What replaces it is a deep, blank void of uncertainty. I hadn't been expecting this. I hadn't wanted it to happen this way. I feel a single tear roll down my cheek. From anger at you, frustration with myself, and the sudden longing which seizes me.

No, I must not be weak, I have to finish this. Wildly, I step forward and try to stab you in the chest. In the end, though, my strength fails me, I can only give a glancing blow, that barely penetrates the skin. I hear the clattering of my blade on the stone floor of the room and the momentum of my thrust carries me forward into your arms.

You embrace me tightly. There is no hesitation or remorse for yourself. It's as if you're pouring out all of your heart to me in that one embrace, here when I was certain that you didn't have a heart at all. More and more, Scanlon, you're forcing me to see that you are quite the opposite of the villain that I always pictured you to be. And that realization hurts in some ways more than any insult you could have thrown at me.

I begin to cry, quite against my own will. I don't want to show weakness in front of you. Yet, you only seem to understand, as your embrace grows tighter. In this moment, I am angry. Angry at myself for having failed in my role. I'm angry that this whole thing has become more complicated. I'm angry above all else that there is a part of me that I hardly want to acknowledge, a part who doesn't want revenge, and never did. It's the part of me that always wanted a father.

“Why?” (I don't know who I’m asking really; you, me, the universe.) There has to be an explanation somewhere. “Why can't I do it...? All the years building up to this and I have the chance and I can't do it.”

I feel you hesitate ever so slightly, and your voice is tinged with uncertainty. Are you at a loss for words? Maybe I can take some small consolation that this might be even harder for you than it is for me. “I'm sorry. I-I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're going through this and I’m more sorry that you're going through this by yourself.” Despite the uncertainty, there is a deeper undercurrent of tenderness in your voice. I find myself becoming surrounded by a warmth and affection which I have never felt in my entire life. I feel protected, as though you would do anything for me, and after such a long time of trying to do everything on my own, this sensation of knowing that I’m not alone... it feels strange and nice.

“But I think, deep down, you're a Shorthalt. And, there's something that you have that's connected to me and I to you and... perhaps I misread that as some sort of icky attraction and I apologize, but I’ve known for awhile now that something is missing in my life. Some sort of focus and some sort of moral compass and maybe... maybe, it's just arrived at my doorstep.”

There is still doubt in your tone, as though you are still questioning what it _I_ want, and I realize that you're giving me the choice as to whether I will take this somewhere further. The trouble is, I don't know what I want anymore. But, for a split second, I forget what it is like to be angry. I tighten my grip around your shoulders. I want to believe you so much. I didn't even know how much I wanted this (whatever _this_ is), and not revenge, until now.

Yet, there were still so many years when you weren't there, when there was nothing but emptiness. I don't know if I can so easily forgive that.

Slowly, perhaps a little reluctant, I step away from your embrace. Though it seems to pain you, you still let me go. You don't try to force it. I bend down to pick up my blade, my fingers feeling numb and clumsy. The realization that I was all prepared to actually murder you is starting to sink in, and I feel a little sickened by it. Maybe I wouldn't have been able to take your life even if you hadn't ruined everything.

I walk towards the door. I know that I could probably just slip on through, without another word or glance. I know if I did I would never have to face you again, and this hurt, this amazing feeling of warmth which you've awakened in me would go away.

That would be the easy way. Unfortunately, I’ve never really enjoyed doing things the easy way.

So, I turn and look back at you. “You're still a scoundrel. It's what kept you alive this long.” A small, cynical bark of laughter escapes me, as I realize, ironically and for the first time, that I am really no different from you in that regard. “Some ways it's kept me alive this long. I've got a lot to think about. I'm gonna go for a walk. I need some fresh air.”

I leave. I stumble through the hallways of the keep, unable to fully fathom what had just occurred. I can't name my emotions right now, but none of them are what I thought they would be. But, there are so many questions which I don't have the answers to.

Why did you have to be different than what I thought you would be? Why couldn't you have played your part and made this whole thing easier? It was so easy to hate you, Scanlon Shorthalt, when you were just a phantom, an ugly villain formed from the stories which I had heard of you. Now, I've met you, and try as hard as I can, I can't hate you anymore. I'm still angry at you for what you did to my mother and to me, but now, there is a different kind of anger inside, as well as another thing that I never anticipated.

Why did you have to make me want a father? I never thought I wanted or needed one before tonight, but now there is an ache inside of my heart, a longing that I thought I caught an echo of in your eyes. The longing for the type of love that is so unlike any other.

And that is the biggest thing that I am angry at you for. Why did you have to make me love you? Because, there has been a seed planted. It's so small that I can easily try and block it out, but somehow I know that won't happen. Why did you make me feel that?

Why?

**Author's Note:**

> Author's Notes:  
> So, you might begin to notice the more I post that Percy is my favorite character. Not really sure why, though I have always been a fan of dark characters. In trying to imagine his deal with Orthax, I was wondering what might have driven Percy to make a deal with a shadowy figure he sees in a dream. My sense is that Orthax senses how desperately alone and guilt-ridden Percy is about the deaths of all his family, and his inability to prevent it. What I tried to show is that Orthax comes not necessarily as an omen of terror and fear, but more as someone who understand what Percy has gone through. In a moment of desperation, Percy's mind just might have grasped onto the presence of this smoky figure of vengeance as the only friend he had. 
> 
> Of course, Orthax proves himself to be incredibly patient and sneaky in asserting his control over Percy's actions. Percy never seems to believe that this dream was anything other than that, a dream. And the other members of Vox Machina have no idea that a demon is possessing their friend until the events of Whitestone bring Percy's dark side to the surface. 
> 
> Thanks for reading, both the story and my ramblings. Hopefully, I will be able to get some more up soon.


End file.
